WaT slash - Breaking
Title: Breaking
Fandom: Without a Trace (I know, it surprised me too)
Pairing: um, duh, D/M
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: the best laid plans of mice and men...
Author’s Notes: some angst, ‘cuz um well, ya know. But, hey, since my WaT muse has been in hibernation I’m not pressing my luck. Set between Showdown and Safe (Season 4 eps 1-2).
It should have happened like this, slow and easy and with plenty of time to touch and kiss. That’s how Danny had imagined it, imagined the transformation of friendship into something more. Time for fingers and mouths to explore muscle and curve. It should have been a slow-build up that overflowed into waves of pleasure, a fitting end to four years of unresolved sexual tension.
They would come together naturally, the progression of nights spent arguing politics and splitting pizzas and trying to talk about anything except work. It would be an evolution of their relationship from work buddies, to friends, to something better. Danny would make the first move, he would lean even further into Martin’s personal space than usual. He would say something outrageous and smirk and let his hand brush against Martin’s thigh.
Martin would be nervous, still a little unsure. But he would trust Danny, he would give Danny one of those smiles that showcased his dimples and it would be perfect. One of those blushes that Martin hated would be staining his cheeks, and it would make Danny tease him a little bit more. Then Danny would pull back, give Martin some breathing room, go slow so you don’t scare the straight boy.
The next time it would be a little bit more, they would sit too close on Martin’s battered old sofa. Sit so close that their legs were pressed together, sit so close that when his hand brushed up against Martin’s thigh it would seem like the most natural thing in the world to leave it there. Let Martin get comfortable with the touch. Smile and flirt and keep Martin blushing until it was time to go.
Danny had it planned out. Baby steps. Small touches and sharp flirtations until Martin was ready for a kiss. Easy and quick, just a quick brush of their lips, plenty of time for Martin to pull back or turn away. Longer the next time. A kiss that lingered, slow and steady until it was kisses that lasted so long that when they broke apart their mouths were already sore and swollen.
It didn’t happen that way at all. It happened like this.
Danny’s hand was shaking when he knocked on Martin’s door. He had called before he came around, Martin had only been home from the hospital for a few days and Danny had wanted to make sure Martin was up for visitors. He had a bag full of mediocre Chinese food and a couple of excellent DVDs and nearly a month after the shooting nightmares were waking him up every night.
Martin didn’t look good when he opened the door. He was too thin and too pale and the lines around his eyes were a little deeper. But when he smiled, Danny’s heart did a little flip and for just a second everything was all right again. Martin moved out of the door and waved Danny in, his other hand wrapped tightly around his cane.
“Thanks for coming by.” Martin’s voice was rough and Danny had to close his eyes for a minute because what he heard wasn’t words but Martin gasping for breath through shattered ribs and lungs filling up with blood.
Danny smiled through it though, gave a little half-hearted laugh, “I should have come by sooner. I wasn’t sure if you’d want company.”
He put the bag down on Martin’s kitchen table. Started pulling out cartons of food, anything to keep his hands occupied. Anything to keep from reaching out and touching Martin, touching him to make sure that he was real, that he was alive and not dead in the front seat of a goddamn government-issue sedan.
He heard Martin move behind him, the slow steps and the accompanying ping of the cane hitting the wooden floor. “Hey,” and then Martin’s hand was on his shoulder, and Martin was turning him around. “Are you okay?”
There was concern in those blue eyes and how fucked up was that. The man who almost died comforting the one who walked away with nothing more than a scrape on his forehead. Danny gave his head a little shake and tried to smile, “I’m fine Fitzie.”
“You’re not.” Martin gave his shoulder another squeeze. “What’s -- "
Danny kissed him then. Stepped forward and cupped Martin’s face in both his hands and kissed him. Not a gentle brush of lips, no chance for Martin to pull back, a full-on assault. Danny kissed him with every single drop of frustration and anger and fear and goddamnit don’t you die on me. He licked and bit and when Martin’s mouth opened under his Danny pushed his way in, tongue and teeth and fucked Martin’s mouth. He swallowed down Martin’s moans and fed Martin his own.
It was a different kind of fear that made Danny pull back. Martin’s hand was still on his shoulder, his eyes wide and confused, his mouth wet from Danny’s kiss. “Jesus,” Danny muttered. He’d fucked it all up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…Jesus.” Martin was still standing by the table, looking after him when Danny slammed his way out of the apartment.
Danny didn’t go back to see Martin. He didn’t answer the phone calls, didn’t return the hesitant messages Martin left on his machine. Instead he bought a bottle of whiskey to keep on his bedside table. He hadn’t opened it yet, hadn’t broken the seal. It was the last thing he saw every night and the first thing he saw every morning as he ticked off the days until Martin came back to work. Until Danny had to face him.
Fandom: Without a Trace (I know, it surprised me too)
Pairing: um, duh, D/M
Rating: PG-13ish
Summary: the best laid plans of mice and men...
Author’s Notes: some angst, ‘cuz um well, ya know. But, hey, since my WaT muse has been in hibernation I’m not pressing my luck. Set between Showdown and Safe (Season 4 eps 1-2).
It should have happened like this, slow and easy and with plenty of time to touch and kiss. That’s how Danny had imagined it, imagined the transformation of friendship into something more. Time for fingers and mouths to explore muscle and curve. It should have been a slow-build up that overflowed into waves of pleasure, a fitting end to four years of unresolved sexual tension.
They would come together naturally, the progression of nights spent arguing politics and splitting pizzas and trying to talk about anything except work. It would be an evolution of their relationship from work buddies, to friends, to something better. Danny would make the first move, he would lean even further into Martin’s personal space than usual. He would say something outrageous and smirk and let his hand brush against Martin’s thigh.
Martin would be nervous, still a little unsure. But he would trust Danny, he would give Danny one of those smiles that showcased his dimples and it would be perfect. One of those blushes that Martin hated would be staining his cheeks, and it would make Danny tease him a little bit more. Then Danny would pull back, give Martin some breathing room, go slow so you don’t scare the straight boy.
The next time it would be a little bit more, they would sit too close on Martin’s battered old sofa. Sit so close that their legs were pressed together, sit so close that when his hand brushed up against Martin’s thigh it would seem like the most natural thing in the world to leave it there. Let Martin get comfortable with the touch. Smile and flirt and keep Martin blushing until it was time to go.
Danny had it planned out. Baby steps. Small touches and sharp flirtations until Martin was ready for a kiss. Easy and quick, just a quick brush of their lips, plenty of time for Martin to pull back or turn away. Longer the next time. A kiss that lingered, slow and steady until it was kisses that lasted so long that when they broke apart their mouths were already sore and swollen.
It didn’t happen that way at all. It happened like this.
Danny’s hand was shaking when he knocked on Martin’s door. He had called before he came around, Martin had only been home from the hospital for a few days and Danny had wanted to make sure Martin was up for visitors. He had a bag full of mediocre Chinese food and a couple of excellent DVDs and nearly a month after the shooting nightmares were waking him up every night.
Martin didn’t look good when he opened the door. He was too thin and too pale and the lines around his eyes were a little deeper. But when he smiled, Danny’s heart did a little flip and for just a second everything was all right again. Martin moved out of the door and waved Danny in, his other hand wrapped tightly around his cane.
“Thanks for coming by.” Martin’s voice was rough and Danny had to close his eyes for a minute because what he heard wasn’t words but Martin gasping for breath through shattered ribs and lungs filling up with blood.
Danny smiled through it though, gave a little half-hearted laugh, “I should have come by sooner. I wasn’t sure if you’d want company.”
He put the bag down on Martin’s kitchen table. Started pulling out cartons of food, anything to keep his hands occupied. Anything to keep from reaching out and touching Martin, touching him to make sure that he was real, that he was alive and not dead in the front seat of a goddamn government-issue sedan.
He heard Martin move behind him, the slow steps and the accompanying ping of the cane hitting the wooden floor. “Hey,” and then Martin’s hand was on his shoulder, and Martin was turning him around. “Are you okay?”
There was concern in those blue eyes and how fucked up was that. The man who almost died comforting the one who walked away with nothing more than a scrape on his forehead. Danny gave his head a little shake and tried to smile, “I’m fine Fitzie.”
“You’re not.” Martin gave his shoulder another squeeze. “What’s -- "
Danny kissed him then. Stepped forward and cupped Martin’s face in both his hands and kissed him. Not a gentle brush of lips, no chance for Martin to pull back, a full-on assault. Danny kissed him with every single drop of frustration and anger and fear and goddamnit don’t you die on me. He licked and bit and when Martin’s mouth opened under his Danny pushed his way in, tongue and teeth and fucked Martin’s mouth. He swallowed down Martin’s moans and fed Martin his own.
It was a different kind of fear that made Danny pull back. Martin’s hand was still on his shoulder, his eyes wide and confused, his mouth wet from Danny’s kiss. “Jesus,” Danny muttered. He’d fucked it all up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…Jesus.” Martin was still standing by the table, looking after him when Danny slammed his way out of the apartment.
Danny didn’t go back to see Martin. He didn’t answer the phone calls, didn’t return the hesitant messages Martin left on his machine. Instead he bought a bottle of whiskey to keep on his bedside table. He hadn’t opened it yet, hadn’t broken the seal. It was the last thing he saw every night and the first thing he saw every morning as he ticked off the days until Martin came back to work. Until Danny had to face him.